


The Humbling River

by orphan_account



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Feelings Realization, Injury, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Road Trips, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Vaginal Sex, hidden identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: While returning from an assignment, d’Artagnan and the three Inseparables are attacked by bandits. Athos loses something of great personal importance, and his greatest secret is accidentally revealed to d’Artagnan.





	The Humbling River

D’Artagnan learns in his early days of musketeering that Athos is quite different from every other soldier he’s ever met. He finds Athos intriguing and admirable; the older man is known as the regiment’s best swordsman for a reason, after all, and his tactical skills, sense of honour, and loyalty to his two brothers are all things d'Artagnan desperately wishes to emulate.

The intrigue is all in Athos' dark past, his reserved nature and terrible habit of drinking alone until his brothers see it fit to carry him to his rooms. D’Artagnan does not presume to ask about the things which haunt his mentor, but he feels it keenly that Athos is unable to confide in any of his brothers on such personal matters, at least not in any depth. D’Artagnan had been foolishly clinging to the hope that once he earns the King’s commission, Athos might speak more freely with him, but it was not yet forthcoming; at least, nothing more than what he had said the night his wife burned down his home around him.

Athos seems to have an incredibly warm heart beneath the armor, but he is not vulnerable or weak in any sense. D’Artagnan has watched him suffer wounds which require stitching with little more than a tight expression and a quiet grunt of discomfort. Athos carries himself just as any other Alpha of the King’s army would, and has never given him reason to suspect his sex might be different. It is unthinkable, of course, for Omegas are not allowed to serve in the military, could not be responsible for the distraction of Alpha soldiers from their duties. Betas, like Aramis and Treville, are allowed, but often have to prove themselves worthy of commission in ways Alphas do not.

It is not until the four of them meet trouble on the road while returning from an assignment that d’Artagnan begins to question what he believes to know about his mentor. As they fight off what they can only assume is a band of thieves, Athos’ horse spooks and, caught unawares, Athos slips off the great beast’s back and onto the wet earth. He fights from the ground, sword hand as steady as ever, but suffers cuts to his ribs and could have been finished off if not for Aramis’s shot.

Once they have dispatched the thieves Aramis goes immediately to Athos’ side, Porthos seeking to find Athos’ horse. d’Artagnan joins Aramis, somewhat desperate to be of assistance.

“I am fine,” Athos says irritably, attempting to sit up. His expression tightens and he lets out a groan, hand flying to his side.

“You are not fine,” Aramis retorts airily. “Let me see.” He pushes Athos’ hand away, unbuttoning his now torn leather doublet with careful hands and moving it aside. Red blooms on Athos’ undershirt, the linen torn as well, and Aramis lifts the fabric to reveal two deep cuts across Athos’ stomach and sides.

Aramis tsks. “Fetch me my kit,” he says to d’Artagnan, who surges to his feet, glad to have something to do. He returns with the leather bag, and Aramis takes out a small canteen of water and some bandages. “These will need stitching,” he says as he rinses the wounds and begins wrapping them. “We need to find somewhere warm and dry, and quickly.”

“There is a village that is not far,” d’Artagnan says. “The inn should be sufficient. I stayed there on my way to Paris, before Father was killed.”

Athos looks up at him then, surprise on his features. D’Artagnan shrugs, looking away. He’d not spoken of his father since he’d dealt with Gaudet and secured Athos’ release from the Chatelet. He supposes, then, that he is no better than his mentor in talking about such things. D’Artagnan is drawn from his thoughts when Porthos returns, Athos’ horse in tow, and Aramis gives Athos a leg up.

“We ride to the next village,” d’Artagnan tells Porthos, who merely nods, casting Athos a glance. “Athos needs stitches, and rest,” d’Artagnan supplies. He watches as Athos checks his saddlebags, goes pale and double-checks a pocket, clearly having found something missing.

“Athos?” Porthos inquires, and the eldest looks up. “Have you lost something?”

“No,” Athos shakes his head, quickly taking his reins. “Nothing of consequence. We should ride on, before dusk.”

* * *

A knot of panic aches in Athos’ stomach as Aramis tends to his wounds. He breathes slowly, controlled, forcing his muscles to stay relaxed, not letting anything show on his face. He’d told the others that it was nothing of consequence, but he isn’t sure if he can find more of what he needs, if he can sneak away from his brothers for long without his absence being noticed. He’d never gone a day without it and really can’t afford for his secret to come out now.

“There,” Aramis says, stepping back. He cuts the thread with his main gauche, wipes a damp cloth over the wound, and lets Athos sit up. Athos notices with some amusement the glaze of d’Artagnan’s dark eyes- he’s well aware of the Gascon’s hero-worship of him, and no doubt the younger man is amazed by Athos' stillness under the needle. His cheeks color as d’Artagnan’s gaze slithers down his bare chest, catching on the number of fading scars already there, the bruises blooming to life after his fall. Athos pulls on a fresh shirt quickly, standing up and moving to grab his doublet and belts. Aramis stops him with a firm hand on his chest and he sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Where are you going?” Aramis asks brusquely. “You’re in no shape to be wandering off on your own.”

“I am simply going to get a drink downstairs,” Athos hedges. “Porthos is there supping already, I will be fine.”

“We’re coming with you,” Aramis asserts, grabbing his own coat and weapons. He casts d’Artagnan a significant look and the younger man jumps to his feet, coming to Athos’ side. Athos raises an eyebrow at the young Alpha, appraising him silently.

“I am not an invalid,” he says, but allows his brothers to accompany him without complaint.

For once, Athos decides to dine with his brothers, listening to their banter with a soft smile and eating his stew peaceably. He doesn’t drink much more than a few cups of wine, determined to be awake and alert after the others are asleep. He takes note of the full moon outside and feels relief for that one small mercy. Searching for a plant in full darkness would be a task even for him. He notices d’Artagnan watching him keenly and cocks an eyebrow at d’Artagnan, who ducks his head, caught out. Athos smirks and returns to his meal, watching as Porthos and Aramis drink and trade stories merrily. D’Artagnan watches, droopy-eyed, still not used to staying up late. They will all sleep soundly tonight, Athos is sure.

Upon returning to their rooms, Athos closes his eyes and feigns sleep, listening as his brothers drift off one by one; Porthos falls asleep first, snoring quietly, then Aramis, and finally, the youngest of the four, his breath evening out. Athos waits for five minutes, then sits up, putting his clothes and belts on once more and quietly leaving the room.

It’s cold outside, and Athos brings his scarf around his face, eyes peeled attentively for the plant he seeks. He edges into the forest, walking the perimeter of the inn, but there seems not to be any present, and his stomach tightens with worry. Athos had taken to medicating every night before falling asleep, and could now feel the effects beginning to fade. His stomach feels heavy and there is sweat on his brow; he smells something rich and warm on the air.

A twig snaps behind Athos and he whirls, sword drawn.

“Athos.” D’Artagnan stares back at him, eyes wide. Athos scoffs, sheathing his sword and turning back to the forest.

“You should be asleep,” he says shortly.

“So should you,” d’Artagnan hedges. “You’re wounded.”

“I will live.”

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” D’Artagnan comes up to Athos’ side, and he tenses. The smell he’d noticed before is stronger now, almost overpowering, and Athos curses inwardly. It wasn’t supposed to wear off so soon. He casts d’Artagnan a glance, notices the way his brow furrows as he sniffs the air.

“I just needed some space,” Athos deflects.

D’Artagnan frowns. “Do you smell that?” he asks, blinking at Athos. “There’s someone else out here.”

Athos shakes his head, but d’Artagnan is undeterred, looking around the grounds. He draws his gun, and Athos sighs.

“I was looking for bloodroot,” Athos admits.

“What?” D’Artagnan looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“Bloodroot,” Athos repeats. “It works as a… a heat suppressant.”

D’Artagnan stares at Athos blankly. He holsters his gun, eyes raking over Athos slowly. “You’re...an Omega? That smell- it’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Athos says, keenly aware that this could be the end of his brotherhood. His career. He could be hanged for lying to the King and all of France.

“Does anyone else know?” D’Artagnan asks, his voice strained.

“Treville,” Athos answers. “And my wife.”

D’Artagnan pales, grabbing Athos’ arms urgently. “Would she tell anyone? Your wife.”

“I...I don’t know,” Athos says, taken aback. “It would seem she hasn’t yet.”

“Surely she’s just waiting to use it to her own advantage.” D’Artagnan realizes his grip on Athos and lets the Omega go, stepping back. “Sorry,” he murmurs. He looks away, clearing his throat. “You won’t find any bloodroot here. It grows on sand banks, mostly. Anywhere else is from scattered seeds.” At Athos’ look, he blushes. “I had a few Omega cousins. Heats got in the way of farming, you see, so it was only practical. We needed all the help we could get.”

“I see.” Athos lets his shoulders drop, sighing heavily. “I suppose I will have to tell the others.”

D’Artagnan purses his lips, looking skywards for a moment. “You’ve, um. Had a heat before?”

“Yes. Once.” Athos pauses, the familiar ache stirring to life in his chest. “Five years ago.”

“Oh.” D’Artagnan doesn’t ask any further, pressing his hand against Athos’ lower back gently. “Let’s go back inside. It’s cold.”

Athos nods stiffly, allowing the young Alpha to guide him back into the warmth of the inn.

* * *

 D’Artagnan wakes before the others, stretching widely. He gets up, relieving himself and getting dressed quickly. He’s had an idea, and he leans in to wake Athos. He notices the scent he’d caught on his mentor the night before, warm and sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon. It’s still subtle enough that he could cover it in a crowd, and d’Artagnan squeezes Athos’ shoulder with renewed urgency.

“Go ‘way,” Athos mutters, batting d’Artagnan’s hand away irritably. “I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

“I have an idea,” d’Artagnan whispers. “Come, Athos, before the others wake.”

Athos sighs, sitting up and glaring at d’Artagnan from beneath his tousled hair. “This had better be a spectacular idea.”

“I hope you’ll think so,” d’Artagnan murmurs, turning his gaze away as Athos begins to dress, pulling breeches and jacket on over linen underclothes. He’s done quickly enough, and they leave the room for the privacy of the empty parlor. Athos drags out a chair, sitting down primly and nodding at d’Artagnan, who sits down as well. “I, uh, imagine you don’t want to tell the others,” he starts, hesitant.

Athos raises an eyebrow. “Not particularly, no.”

“Well...what if we don’t?” D’Artagnan looks up at Athos hopefully. “We can tell them you have personal matters you must attend to, nearby, and I can come along. We can go to the markets nearby and look for bloodroot. You’ve still got time, and your scent isn’t terribly strong yet.”

Athos blinks, looking over d’Artagnan’s shoulder thoughtfully. “Porthos and Aramis won’t question my affairs,” he concedes. “And Aramis would insist someone accompany me, with this injury.” He pokes at his side blandly, casting d’Artagnan a critical look. “You’re sure the markets here will have bloodroot?”

“Almost certainly,” d’Artagnan says. “It really is common among farmers. If I may ask- where does yours come from?”

Athos slants d’Artagnan a wry smile. “I have a lifelong supply,” he says simply.

They sit together in the morning light as the innkeepers begin to prepare breakfast, and soon enough they are joined by Porthos and Aramis. Athos’ sweet scent is lost in the clamour of the crowd, and he makes d’Artagnan’s proposal without any questions from his brothers.

“We’d best be getting off, then,” Porthos says after they’ve finished eating. “His Majesty will be waiting.”

“You keep a close eye on him, now,” Aramis says to d’Artagnan. “Don’t let him ruin my needAthosork.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Athos remarks wryly, and gets to his feet. They all exchange embraces, and Porthos and Aramis leave. Athos watches them mount their horses through the tiny inn window, then turns to d’Artagnan. “The sooner we set off, the better,” he says. “I don’t know how long I have. Not long enough, I’m sure.”

“Right.” D’Artagnan flushes at the implication, trying not to think of his mentor in the throes of heat, flushed and wanting. He breaks away from Athos, going to the innkeeper’s desk and asking for directions to the markets. D’Artagnan then rejoins Athos outside, mounting his horse and relaying the directions for him, and they set off into the forest.

At the best of times, Athos is reticent, only saying as much as is necessary in the moment. Now he is silent, his jaw set, his grip on the reins white-knuckled. D’Artagnan can only imagine the anxiety Athos is feeling right now- the Omega is remarkable at cloaking his feelings, but this is no ordinary issue.

For Athos’ sake, d’Artagnan prays they find bloodroot soon.

* * *

 Athos follows d’Artagnan into the room, defeat a heavy weight on his shoulders. The shops had all been out of bloodroot, awaiting a trader who was several days behind. One of the shopkeepers suggested they either wait or try the next village over, which was a day’s journey at a gallop, and Athos had chosen the latter. Anything he can do to avoid going into heat around d’Artagnan is better than the alternative.

They had ridden as far as they could for the day, and Athos is saddle-sore and unbearably tired. He takes off his belts, boots, and doublet, and lies down with a long sigh. There’s only one bed, as all the other rooms were occupied, but Athos is too tired to think terribly much on that issue. He trusts d’Artagnan to make the honorable choice.

“I can bring supper up here,” d’Artagnan offers, as keenly aware of Athos’ mood as ever.

“Mmm,” Athos grunts, slinging an arm over his eyes. His skin is hot to the touch, and he feels rather dizzy. He’s not sure he will make it through to the morning without breaking into heat, but riding at night would likely lead to disaster. Athos is in no shape to fight, now. If they were ambushed, they most certainly would not come out on the winning side.

Athos wakes sometime later with gummy eyes and a sore cheek. It’s dark, the only light in the room a candle on the card table, and there is a bowl of stew set out on the opposite side of where d’Artagnan sits. The Alpha looks up when Athos coughs.

“You fell asleep,” he says. “I thought it best to let you rest. There’s stew- I’m afraid it’s gone cold by now, but it’s something to eat.”

Athos nods. “Thank you,” he says, his voice scraping out of his throat. He wonders how d’Artagnan can be so calm and controlled, with Athos’ scent undoubtedly filling the room, signalling to anyone with a nose that there’s an Omega on the cusp of heat nearby. He sits up, rolling his shoulders and neck until his joints pop, and gets to his feet. Athos sits across from d’Artagnan and starts to eat, observing quietly as d’Artagnan carves something from a small block of wood.

“My father taught me to carve,” d’Artagnan says, smiling wistfully. “There was still so much more he wanted to teach me.”

Athos nods, unsure of what to say.

“He was taken from me far too soon.” D’Artagnan’s smile fades. “He deserved a peaceful death.”

“I’m sorry,” Athos murmurs. He remembers his brief stay in the Châtelet, and wonders if he has even begun to pay the price for his mistakes. The death of Alexandre d’Artagnan may not have been his doing, but it was done in his name, and he wonders if it’s enough to be training the man’s son to fight for honor.

D’Artagnan looks up at Athos, suddenly interested. “What happened to your parents, Athos?”

“They died a long time ago,” Athos answers curtly. He sees d’Artagnan raise an eyebrow, clearly expecting more than that, and sighs. “I was nineteen. My mother became ill, and none of the treatments seemed to improve her condition. She died within seven days. My father took his own life a few days after.”

“Oh,” d’Artagnan says, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry, Athos.”

Athos shrugs, finishing his stew. “My father was not a kind man to his sons. But he loved my mother.” he says simply.

“Did he know? That you’re an Omega?”

“No.” Athos’ lips curl in a haunted smile. “My mother made sure no one would ever know what I am. She knew I wouldn’t inherit anything if I was known to be an Omega, so she gave me a lifetime supply of bloodroot when I came of age. She felt that Thomas was not meant to be a _Comte,_ so my sex was kept a secret. No one on Earth knew, until I married my wife.”

D’Artagnan frowns. “That must have been...isolating.”

“I suppose it was,” Athos agrees. _But now I have you,_ he thinks, unbidden. He shakes his head. “I’m going back to sleep,” he says, standing. “Good night, d’Artagnan.”

“Good night,” d’Artagnan replies. His gaze tracks Athos as he walks to the bed, then he looks away politely.

* * *

 In the morning d’Artagnan wakes feeling the warmth of sunlight against his back- and, peculiarly, the warmth of another body against his knees. Still half asleep and barely rational, he assumes he’d taken a lover and sniffs, catching the warm, sweet scent of an Omega.

“Mmmm,” d’Artagnan sighs, pressing his body closer and inhaling more of that intoxicating scent. He curls an arm around a slim waist and presses a kiss to warm, dry skin. There’s a low keen, and d’Artagnan startles as he realizes the Omega- _Athos!_ \- is tense beneath him, breathing in a tight, controlled way.

“Shit,” d’Artagnan mutters, pulling away quickly. “Sorry.” He stands up, reaching for his breeches.

Athos doesn’t respond, swallowing and turning his face into the pillows. His scent is almost overwhelming now, filling every corner of the room. If Athos hasn’t already broken into heat, he has less than a few hours left before he does. D’Artagnan shakes his head, focusing on buttoning up his breeches before he perches on the edge of the bed, calling to Athos gently.

“I’m going to the markets,” D’Artagnan says. “You should stay here, Ath.”

Athos turns to lie on his back, appraising d’Artagnan with those pale green eyes. When they first met, he thought they were icy, cold, even somewhat soulless. But throughout the time they have spent together, d’Artagnan has learned that his eyes are Athos’ most expressive feature. On the rare occasion he is in a good temper, the corners of his eyes crinkle with crow’s feet, and the green of his irises seem to come to life. D’Artagnan sometimes finds himself wishing he could have known Athos when he was the Comte de la Fère, before his wife swept into his life and shattered everything he’d known and loved.

“Perhaps it’s best,” Athos says, wetting his lips. “I...do not feel well. There is not much time left.”

D’Artagnan nods, resting a hand on Athos’ covered knee. Athos’ lips quirk in a tolerant, but warm, smile. D’Artagnan feels his gaze on him, watching as he pulls on his doublet and boots, buckling his sword belt around his waist. A shiver runs down his spine despite himself, and he glances back at Athos furtively.

“Go,” Athos says softly. “Lock the door. I will be fine.”

D’Artagnan swallows, nodding. He steps out into the hallway, locking the door behind him, and heads to the stables.

* * *

 As soon as d’Artagnan has gone, his footsteps receding down the stairs, Athos lets out the whine that’d been trapped in his throat. He shoves his hand into his braies, fumbling to rub himself, fingers growing slick as he parts his folds. His mind has gone foggy, as if he’s gotten deep into his cups, and all he can think about is d’Artagnan’s rich Alpha scent on the air. Athos moans, fingers sliding into himself.

Athos’ stomach twists with a familiar anxiety; surely d’Artagnan would never want him, Omega or not. He’s clearly head over heels for Constance, and she is a much more suitable mate for an Alpha in his prime. Youthful, beautiful, and sure of herself and her worth- Athos is none of these things; a broken drunkard grieving a criminal of a wife, and hardly anything to look at.

But he can’t help the thrill of desire he feels when he watches d’Artagnan dress, when the younger man stands close to him or their knuckles brush. He can’t help the love that swells in his chest when d’Artagnan bests an enemy in combat, Athos’ advices clearly taken to heart. He’d tried for so long to repress it, to ignore it. But he can’t lie to himself, not like this.

As heat creeps into his blood and his vision blurs, Athos allows himself to think of nothing but d’Artagnan, his nose buried into the pillow d’Artagnan had slept on and his fingers deep within himself.

* * *

 D’Artagnan urges his horse to a gallop, determined to reach the inn again as quickly as possible. It’s obvious that Athos would have broken his heat by now, and d’Artagnan can only imagine the hesitance and fear Athos must be feeling. He’d gotten the bloodroot, finally, but he’s not sure if it will even work at this point. Athos is just too far along now, he knows.

The inn is quiet when he returns, most having left to continue their journeys. Some men linger in the dining area, plates and bowls scraped clean and not yet cleared away as they chatter amongst themselves. D’Artagnan climbs up the stairs and finds his and Athos’ room, hesitating at the door. He can smell Athos; just faintly, his scent wafting up from the crack under the door, and his nerves jangle. Would Athos want to be seen like this? Would he sent D’Artagnan away, try to deal with it on his own?

D’Artagnan knocks on the door twice, giving Athos a warning before he unlocks the door and steps inside. Athos is on the bed where d’Artagnan had left him, curled away from him and covered by a blanket. He’s holding himself too still, the muscles of his back tensed, and the room smells of sex.

“I’ve brought the bloodroot,” d’Artagnan says. Athos rolls over, looking at d’Artagnan. His eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed. “Too late now,” d’Artagnan mutters, approaching Athos hesitantly. Those green eyes track him like a hawk as he sits down on the bed beside Athos, offering a portion of the bloodroot. Athos eyes it skeptically.

“It’ll help, even of it’s too late to stop it,” he says, and Athos takes it, chewing on it slowly. It won’t take effect immediately, d’Artagnan knows. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks, leaving the choice to Athos.

Athos shakes his head, reaching for d’Artagnan’s wrist, lust-filled green eyes meeting his. “I want you to knot me, d’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan nods, his heart pounding. He takes off his sword belt and boots, climbing onto the bed fully. It feels strange, being in bed with his mentor, but not wrong. He can feel Athos trembling, his body exerting itself in its heat, and closes his eyes as Athos’ sweet scent spikes in intensity, reacting to d’Artagnan’s Alpha musk.

D’Artagnan’s nerves abate as the pheromones take effect and he grows hard, his breeches tightening uncomfortably. Athos reaches over, cupping him in his palm and squeezing. His eyes flick up to d’Artagnan’s as he moans, his hips jerking up into the touch. Athos teases him for a bit, then sets to stripping d’Artagnan bare. When he’s peeled everything away he leans in, pressing a shy kiss to d’Artagnan’s throat. D’Artagnan reacts immediately, taking Athos’ chin and turning his face up, kissing Athos with a fervor. His hand slides down over Athos’ muscled belly, his fingers raking through the tangle of dark hair over Athos’ sex. It should feel all wrong, but it doesn’t, and he can’t bring himself to think on it any more than that.

He cups Athos, his fingers finding the wet folds of his core and rubbing slow circles into the smooth skin. Slick wets d’Artagnan’s fingers and drips down the insides of Athos' thighs, and d’Artagnan moans, breaking their kiss and pressing against Athos’ chest until the Omega falls onto his back on the bed.

D’Artagnan slides down between Athos’ legs, lapping up the salty fluid coating Athos’ inner thighs. He ventures further inward, licking at the lips of Athos' sex and raising the hood slightly with a thumb to see his swollen cocklet. Athos lets out a long moan when d'Artagnan leans in, suckling his cock. He reaches down, his fingers tangling in d'Artagnan’s hair.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos groans, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. “Please.”

D'Artagnan pulls away, sitting back on his haunches. Athos groans unhappily, bereft, and d’Artagnan shushes him. He fumbles for his breeches, taking out a newly-purchased covering he’d gotten at the markets and slipping it on over his stiff cock. He turns back to Athos, biting his lip.

“Are you quite sure?” he asks, anxious that Athos might no longer want this, or that he will regret it later.

“Yes,” Athos gasps, his green eyes brighter than d’Artagnan’s ever seen them before. “Yes, d'Artagnan. I want this.”

D'Artagnan nods, shuffling up to straddle Athos. He takes his cock in his fist and lines up with Athos' entrance, sliding in easily and stilling. D’Artagnan groans at the feeling of being inside of Athos- his passage is slick, tight, and almost unbearably hot around d’Artagnan’s cock. Athos whines and writhes, impatient after so long on the brink already. D’Artagnan bears down, setting his lips to Athos’s neck as he starts to thrust.

“Damn,” Athos moans, shivering. D’Artagnan sucks on the skin of his throat, pistoning in and out of Athos with youthful vigor. He sinks his teeth into that soft, milky skin, sucking at it roughly, wanting to leave a mark. Athos chokes off what sounds like a sob, arching his hips, the movement causing his passage to tighten and squeeze d’Artagnan’s cock. D’Artagnan moves from Athos’ throat up to his lips, coaxing him into another kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy. D’Artagnan wonders at the feeling of what they are doing; he’s fucked Omegas before, but never before had it felt so _right._ Athos’ tongue slips into d’Artagnan’s mouth, exploring the ridges of his teeth, the underside of his tongue. He pushes his hips back to meet d’Artagnan’s every thrust, making soft noises of pleasure against d’Artagnan’s lips.

“C’mon,” he moans, nipping d’Artagnan’s lip. He flexes his walls around d'Artagnan, pulling him in further. D'Artagnan’s knot aches and begins to swell against Athos' folds. He bottoms out, letting his knot fill Athos from within. D’Artagnan holds himself on the brink a while longer to drag and pull his knot inside of Athos, eliciting choked cries of pleasure from him. Athos comes, his walls clenching hard around d’Artagnan, slick oozing out around d’Artagnan’s knot.

D'Artagnan stays seated within Athos, grinding and pulling his knot in the vice-like grip of Athos’ passage until he comes as well, his seed spilling into the covering. He collapses on top of Athos with a groan, burying his nose in the junction of Athos’ shoulder and neck. Athos’ hand comes to rest on d’Artagnan’s back, rubbing slow circles into the mostly smooth skin.

“That was good,” Athos murmurs, kissing d’Artagnan’s hair.

“Mmm,” is all d’Artagnan manages, still knotted deep inside Athos. He comes again, whimpering softly. He glances up at Athos, seeing clear, sober eyes looking down at him. The bloodroot must have taken effect. Athos is warm, but no longer feverishly hot.

“I’m quite alright,” Athos says to d’Artagnan’s concern, smiling.

“Good,” d’Artagnan hums, nuzzling against Athos’ throat. His knot has begun to taper, his erection fading, and he wriggles, pulling out of Athos.

“Here,” says Athos, reaching for d’Artagnan’s cock. He pulls off the covering, tying it up neatly and throwing it away. At d’Artagnan’s look, he smirks. “I’ll buy you another. Better new than used.”

“I don’t want to go back to Paris,” d’Artagnan sighs, and Athos raises an eyebrow. “I like it here with you.”

Athos smiles, shaking his head. “There are better lovers,” he murmurs. “But- it has gotten quite late already. We might as well spend tonight here as well.”

d’Artagnan grins. “You’re the only lover for me, Athos.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song by [Puscifer](https://youtu.be/O0YxeTjFn70).


End file.
